


Don't Get Attached

by SeaofRhye (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU Fic, Baby, Declarations Of Love, EMT!Ian, Eventual Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Feelings, M/M, Mention of Bipolar disorder, Mention of canon suicide attempt, Mpreg, Oral sex mention, Post-partum Depression Mention, Slow Burn, Surrogate!Mickey, birth scene, male carriers are a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SeaofRhye
Summary: Mickey's having a baby for Ian Gallagher, but it's strictly a business arrangement. Nobody's getting attached.





	1. Part 1

Mickey’s no stranger to the legalities of being a male surrogate, but he’s fuzzy on exactly what the rule is about letting your client blow you during your work break. Although as long as it’s consensual, who cares? 

And this is very, very consensual. The part of his brain that can still function is thinking Ian might’ve had a future in porn if he hadn’t gone the EMT route, because the guy has practically no gag reflex and an incredible instinct for using his tongue.

“Fuck,” Mickey pants, head lolling against the wall as he gets his breath back. “Jesus, Gallagher, where did you fucking learn that?”

Ian smirks up at him.

“Would you believe it’s just natural talent?”

Mickey huffs a blissed-out laugh and rumples Ian’s hair. “Yeah, whatever. Get up, I gotta get back to work.” 

Ian does, and Mickey starts getting himself back in order so he can go back to the bar not looking like he just got lucky.

Ian, for his part, zips up his jacket and leans in, hovering over Mickey.

“Nah,” Mickey says, pushing him away. “This wasn’t a date, don’t kiss me. It was just hormones.”

Ian smiles and takes a step back. 

“You can still call me the next time you get hormonal like this,” he says. 

“Sure,” Mickey says offhandedly, straightening his tie. “And don’t forget, doctor’s appointment on Thursday.” He brushes a hand over his stomach. “Gonna see the little alien again. It’s supposed to be the size of an apple now, or some shit.”

Ian’s eyes light up, and before Mickey can stop him, he’s put his hand on Mickey’s bump. 

“That’s amazing,” he says. “Can you feel anything yet?”

Mickey shrugs, trying not to focus on how warm Ian’s hand is or how fucking good he smells. 

“A little bit, could be gas,” he replies. “I really have to get back.”

Ian blinks and steps back. “Yeah, okay. Um...keep in touch.”

“Whatever,” Mickey breezes out the door, throwing a casual middle finger over his shoulder. 

***  
This isn’t his first rodeo, or even his second. Mickey’s had two kids before now, both for other people willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money to bring home a screaming, shitty little life-ruiner. It wasn’t the side gig he necessarily wanted, but he had the gene and a business to get off the ground, and what was nine months out of his life? 

He stopped smoking, cultivated a story about being a former teen hooligan who turned his life around through the miracle of community college (his brother helped get him a fake diploma) and charmed a rich couple into convincing them that he was the perfect oven to bake their little bundle of joy in.

The whole thing was tougher than he’d expected, but not a nightmare. They got their kid, he got money for his bar, and within two years he was ready to do it again for another couple. What the hell, he needed the dough and it was actually easier the second time around. 

He knows that the older he gets the less appealing he’s going to be for the job. He figures once he’s had this one and maybe another in a couple of years, he should be ready to give up baby-baking and just live his life as the business owner of a semi-successful bar. 

But this is the first time he’s had a kid for a single parent, and god-fucking-damn is Ian Gallagher a DILF. Tall redhead, freakishly pale, with green eyes that lock onto his like a challenge. And technically, this is more of a closed adoption than a surrogacy, because the baby’s partly Mickey’s as well as Ian’s. Mickey doesn’t worry about getting attached, though--he has ways of distracting himself, always gets the good drugs during labor, and never asks to hold or see the baby after it’s out. Easier that way. Then he gets his money and goes home with some pain meds and a postpartum bump that’s gone in a few weeks. 

No matter what anyone says--specifically his sister, the only member of his family he still keeps in touch with regularly--it doesn’t matter that this little alien is part Milkovich. A deal’s a deal. Money was exchanged, forms were signed, and Mickey’s not buying any little shoes or setting up a nursery. This is going to be Ian Gallagher’s baby in every sense of the phrase, and Mickey’s not going to be involved. 

The only thing that bothers him is that it means he won’t see Ian anymore once the baby’s here. But that’s how it works, how it’s always worked. Just because he’s popping out a kid for the guy doesn’t make them a fucking couple or anything. 

And that suits him fine.

***

Mickey can practically go through the whole routine in his sleep--drink water, lift his shirt, lie back for the gel and the wand and watch the little thing squirm around on the screen. Then zone out while the parents say all kinds of sappy things to it like it’s a fish in an aquarium. Ian, though, doesn’t say much. He just stares and smiles like he can’t believe it, and Mickey catches himself smiling back. 

He doesn’t have any particularly troubling symptoms to report--morning sickness fucked off weeks ago, his weight is where it should be, he’s got more energy and his sex drive is back (Ian hides a smirk at that.) The only thing the doctor warns him about is working too late and letting his blood pressure get too high.

“You’re not twenty-one anymore,” she warns him. “You’ve been lucky so far, but carriers have a higher risk for pre-eclampsia as they age. Keep your stress levels low and watch out for sudden headaches and swollen feet.”

Mickey nods, having heard this before. Really, though, he’s not worried. He’s had two successful pregnancies with no complications before or after, so why worry about anything going wrong now?

“She’s right,” Ian says when Mickey voices his lack of concern out loud as they’re leaving. “If you start feeling off at all, even if you think it’s nothing, you need to call me--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Mickey sighs. “But fuck, I’m okay now. Can we just take this one thing at a time?”

Ian shrugs. “Fine.” After a minute, he pipes up again. “Hey, uh...next week my family’s having Thanksgiving at my old house, if you want to join us.”

Mickey’s surprised. He’s never been invited to any parent’s home for a holiday meal before. He knows better than to expect any Milkovich get-together this year, since one of his brothers is in prison, the other’s lying low in Canada, and his sister’s in Indiana. 

“No thanks,” he says finally. “I’ve, uh, got stuff to do at the bar. We get a lot of business this time of year, people who don’t have turkey dinners to go to and all that.”

“If you’re sure,” Ian says. “It’s no trouble. My sister and brothers bring friends sometimes, and we’ll have plenty of food. You can stop by anytime.”

Mickey smirks. “For anything?” 

Ian gives him a smile. “Anything.”

“I’ll try to get away, then.”

***

When Thanksgiving Day comes around, Mickey finds he’s not really in the mood for holiday sexy-times. 

He blames hormones--again--for making him depressed about not having a family dinner of his own to sit down at, and even the idea of heading across the street to his favorite diner seems pathetic. Besides, he’s tasted their “Thanksgiving Platter” enough times to know that it’s pretty much just salty gravy mix and barely-thawed turkey breast. Even if he could still eat any old crap and not worry about it, he wouldn’t want to eat that shit again this year.

Since his choices are either order takeout and bum around his apartment, or stay in the bar and listen to drunks talk about their family drama while watching the Macy’s Day Parade, he figures he’ll take Ian up on his offer. What the hell, at least he’ll get a free meal (and maybe another BJ, who knows) out of it. 

He calls Ian to let him know he’s changed his mind, and Ian sounds...kind of tentative.

“Great,” he says. “Um...but I should probably warn you, I told my family who I chose as a surrogate, and they remember you from back when you used to live here.”

Mickey knows where this is going. “They think we had a one-night stand and I’m trying to shake you down or something?”

Ian laughs. “Pretty much. At least, that was their first reaction. I told them it’s not like that. Look, if you don’t want to face a Gallagher interrogation, you don’t have to.”

“Fuck that, I’m not afraid of them,” Mickey says defensively. “You don’t gotta protect me. I’ll be over in an hour, tell the Inquisition.” 

***

Mickey has a passing acquaintance with at least three Gallaghers besides Ian. He lived in this neighborhood until after high school, and he vaguely remembers Lip and Fiona. Thanks to the shit he used to pull at the convenience store where he and Ian (technically) met, he’s sure they’ve heard stories about him. But it’s been a long time since those days. He’s got his life together and he’s stayed out of prison. If any of them have done better, he’s happy to hear about it. 

All the same, he’s a little nervous when Ian meets him at the door and shows him inside. He almost doesn’t want to take off his coat for a minute, because he’s not looking forward to inviting open stares or endless questions about the pregnancy all through dinner. 

“Hey,” he says to the milling group of people who are just beginning to sit down at the table. “Uh...Happy Thanksgiving.”

He gets a generally positive reply, Ian brings him a root beer (god, he could really use the real thing right now, but of course that’s not an option) and he takes a seat next to him for dinner. Everything looks and smells great, and he’s sure to compliment Fiona and Veronica (who clearly remembers him from the way she mentions how he “cleans up nice.”) 

Dinner’s not as bad as Ian made it sound. He fields plenty of questions about what he’s doing these days and what made him decide to be Ian’s surrogate, and he gives them the standard answers--running a bar and because Ian wasn’t a total stranger. That earns him some odd looks, but fuck it, it’s not as if he owes them an explanation for this.

“So you guys didn’t have sex?” Carl asks at one point, and Mickey almost chokes on his yams. 

“Carl, shut up!” Ian snaps, but Mickey waves at him.

“No!” he says, coughing. “No, not to--no.” He takes a gulp of root beer. “It was an insemination, like IVF, only without the egg because Ian’s a guy. So it’s biologically half my kid, too.”

Fiona’s eyes widen. “Whoa. So, you’re still gonna let him have full custody?”

“Yeah, why not?” Mickey says, digging into his food again. “I don’t want kids. Ian does. Makes total sense.”

“I’m just saying,” Fiona goes on, despite Ian sending her a warning look. “It’s still a baby. They’re easy to get attached to.”

“I don’t,” Mickey says firmly. “Once they dope me up, I barely remember a thing. By the time I wake up, the kid’s gone home with their family. It’s better that way.”

He can see a million other questions ready to come out of her mouth, so he gets in front of the biggest one. 

“We’re not gonna be co-parenting,” he says with a glance at Ian. “I signed papers that say I waive my parental rights. This kid is a hundred percent his, I’m just the incubator. Happy?”

Fiona reads his mood and nods, although she clearly isn’t completely happy. Well, whatever. He’s not answering any more questions.  
***

“Do you know the sex yet?”

Mickey glances at Lip, who’s sitting across from him as the majority of the Gallaghers mindlessly watch the football game. He’s ready to give into a turkey-induced food nap, so his answer is a little slow. 

“No,” he says. “Ian wants it to be a surprise.” That’s technically true, but also Mickey doesn’t want to know. If he does, he has a feeling he’ll start to get attached, and that won’t be good for anyone.

Lip nods. “Would you care if we started a betting pool?”

Ian snorts and Mickey flips him off and closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep. His bladder, though, has other plans.

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

Ian points to the kitchen. “Door next to the stairs.”

Mickey gets up and immediately has to sit back down again because he’s hit by a wave of dizziness. 

“Mickey?” Ian’s hand is on his arm, but Mickey bats him away.

“I’m fine, stood up too fast. I’m good.” 

Ian’s still hovering and he’s got the entire family’s attention, which is not what he wants. The dizziness passes.

“I’m good,” he insists. “Really.”

***

He’s not good.

He gets dizzy again when he’s washing his hands, and this time he nearly ends up on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, grabbing onto the sink for dear life. He knows what this probably is--low blood pressure. He should lie down and drink some water. That’s what his doctor said to do the last time this happened.

The only problem is, he’s in Ian’s house and he can’t just crash on someone’s bed. 

There’s a knock on the door. “Mickey? You okay?”

It’s Ian. Mickey opens the door.

“You look pale,” Ian says immediately. “Do we need to take you to the hospital?”

“No,” Mickey protests. “No, I’m okay, just low blood pressure. I need to lie down somewhere, have some water, I’ll be fine.”

“My bed’s still in my old room, you can lie down there. But I still want to take your blood pressure and call your doctor just in case this is more serious. Okay?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mr. EMT, but I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Seriously?”

Mickey realizes how that must have sounded. 

“Let me just lie down,” he sighs. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

Ian puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not. Trust me.”

***  
Ian’s bed is comfy and smells like him, and once he’s a little more hydrated, Mickey starts to feel better. 

“Didn’t drink enough water before I got here,” he says by way of explanation. “With the traffic and everything, I didn’t want to have to pull off the highway for bathroom breaks.”

Ian’s sitting on the end of the bed, on the phone with his doctor, and he nods briefly. 

“Yeah, I used my cuff, and his blood pressure is definitely a little low,” he says into the phone. “He says he didn’t drink much before coming over. No, I don’t think so.” He glances back at Mickey.

“Any severe headache or blurred vision?”

“No!” Mickey retorts. “I would’ve mentioned that.”

“He says no,” Ian relates, and Mickey kind of tunes out the rest because he’s tired. He might just take that nap after all. 

He’s almost dozed off when Ian touches his foot. 

“She says you should take it easy for the rest of the day and stay hydrated,” he says. “You can sleep over if you want.”

“Mm,” Mickey replies. “Don’t wanna be--”

“Mick, stop,” Ian says, scooting so he’s closer to Mickey’s hip. “You’re not a nuisance. You didn’t do this on purpose to score free pie.”

“There’s pie?” Mickey jokes feebly, lifting his arm off his eyes. Ian pokes his side.

“Really, we’re used to houseguests. Nobody will care if you stay one night.”

Mickey turns onto his side and tucks an arm under the pillow. “You should go downstairs, be with your sister and everybody. I’ll be fine.”

Ian glances towards the door and his jaw clenches.

“I’d...probably have come up here after dinner anyway.”

“Not a fan of football?”

Ian looks at the floor. “No. But...our mom tried to kill herself on Thanksgiving one year.”

“Shit.” Mickey half-raises himself onto his elbow. “I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t talk about it much,” Ian says, with palpable tension in his voice. “She slit her wrists right there in our kitchen. I thought maybe it was an accident, but then I saw that it was both arms, and--” He turns away. “I never realized how sick she really was until then.”

Mickey has no idea what to say. So he doesn’t say anything.

Ian clears his throat and seems to compose himself, and gives Mickey a terse smile. 

“So, yeah, not really a fan of anything Thanksgiving related.”

Mickey nods, still at a loss for words. He could tell Ian a lot of stories about shitty holidays around his place, but none of them involve people trying to off themselves.

“I’ll let you sleep.You need anything?”

Mickey shakes his head, lying back down. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” 

Mickey hears the skepticism in his voice. Ian doesn’t get it--he probably had Fiona making him chicken soup or getting him cold medicine when he was sick as a kid. In the Milkovich house, if you got sick, you toughed it out. Mickey never saw the inside of a doctor’s office unless he was bleeding heavily or had a broken bone that nobody else knew how to set. Mostly he was just left to fend for himself, like his siblings, unless one of them decided it wasn’t too inconvenient to lend a hand. 

His last thought before he falls asleep is that it’s nice not being alone right now.

***

When Mickey wakes up, it’s just after midnight. He really has to pee, so he goes to sit up--slowly--and that’s when he realizes that Ian’s curled up behind him asleep, one hand sliding off Mickey’s stomach when he sits up.

Too tired to read into it, Mickey goes to use the bathroom and comes back without any further dizziness. All the same, he drinks half the bottle of Gatorade that Ian left on the nightstand. That just makes him realize he’s hungry, so he ventures downstairs to raid the fridge. What the hell, there’s probably next to nothing left, the way this family eats.

He finds some leftover yams and heats them up as a snack. When he’s done, he heads back upstairs, only to meet Ian at the top of the stairs. They almost collide with each other.

“Fuck!” Mickey says, almost losing his balance but this time not because he’s dizzy. Ian takes a step back, looking startled.

“Hey, there you are,” he says. “I woke up and you were gone. You okay?”

“Fine. Got hungry,” Mickey replies shortly, glancing toward the very inviting bed down the hall. He moves past Ian, who follows him and stands there a little awkwardly when Mickey climbs back in bed first. Mickey glances up at him.

“What? You want to keep spooning?”

Ian’s eyebrows jump. “I wasn’t--I came in and you were asleep, I was just--”

“Whatever,” Mickey yawns. “Just stay on your side.”

Ian mutters something, but climbs over him onto the side he was on before Mickey woke up. 

They settle in, and Mickey’s just closed his eyes when... 

“I thought I felt something earlier.”

“It’s called a boner, go to sleep,” Mickey grumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.

“No, not that.” Ian taps Mickey’s stomach. “In there. You didn’t feel it?”

“I was asleep,” Mickey groans. “It’s not strong enough to wake me up yet. And if you wanna grope my belly, at least do it when I’m awake, a’ight?”

He feels Ian move away slightly. “Okay.”

Mickey might be exhausted and cranky, but he knows Ian well enough that he can tell he’s just going to bring this up again in the morning. So he moves onto his back and grabs Ian’s wrist.

“What--”

“Shut up,” Mickey says, laying Ian’s hand on his belly. “It usually moves after I’ve eaten something, so…”

Sure enough, there’s a definite tap from inside, and Ian laughs incredulously.

“Holy shit!” 

“Yeah, it gets old after a while,” Mickey says calmly, even though he likes knowing that the kid is doing okay. “And don’t worry, soon she’s gonna be kicking away all the time.”

Ian stares at him. “She?”

Crap. Shit. No. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, why did he say that?!

“I...I mean, y’know, he or she. It, them, whatever you wanna call it,” Mickey babbles. “I don’t know, how could I, it’s too early. Go to sleep!”

“Mick…” Ian’s grinning now. “Do you think it’s a girl? It’s okay if you do.”

“It’s really not,” Mickey says through gritted teeth, turning back onto his side and causing Ian’s hand to fall off him. “Now can I please just fucking sleep?”

***

Mickey takes off before breakfast that morning because he doesn’t want to face Ian after last night. He’s panicked enough as it is because he called the baby “she.” He doesn’t do that. He’s never done that. It’s always “it” or “thing” or “alien.” The parents can call it whatever they want, but not him. Because it’s not his. 

Or at least, it never has been before.

He wants a cigarette. Hell, a whole fucking carton sounds good right now, but he can’t have any. He’s not sure what to do to calm himself down besides taking a long walk, which sounds good in theory but in practice just reminds him of the shitty neighborhood he lives in. Everywhere he looks there are overflowing trash cans, homeless people holding battered cardboard signs or asking for “a dollar,” and boarded-up storefronts that have been tenant-less for months. There isn’t even a park or anything nearby. This is no place for a kid. 

He digs his palms into his eyes at the thought. Why do parks matter? He’s not keeping the damn kid. He’s handing it off to Ian as soon as the cord’s cut. Even if he was having second thoughts, which he’s not, he can’t do anything about it now. He signed legal documents saying that he has no parental rights to this kid and that unless Ian agrees to shit like visitations and partial custody, that isn’t going to change. 

He knows all this. He accepted all this before he even got pregnant. So why the fuck is he calling the thing “she” and bemoaning the fact that he lives in a neighborhood without a park for kids to play in?

Because she’s yours, says a part of his brain that’s probably been taken over by the fucking hormones. She’s not just Ian’s. You can’t change that.

No, but…

Fine. 

***

He leaves Ian a voicemail thanking him for dinner and letting him know he’s okay. He blames the holiday for fucking with his head about the baby and everything. Christmas will probably be even worse--who knows, he might ask Ian to marry him or some shit. 

He thinks it over and comes to the conclusion that this “wanting the kid” thing is just a temporary lapse. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to use his own DNA in this surrogacy, and he won’t be doing it again because it’s making it very hard for him not to think of this as his kid...his family. 

That way lies total shittiness, though. And an ill-advised custody battle he’s sure to lose, because no matter how good his business is or how much money he’s made in the past few years, he’s still got an impressive record of misdemeanors, robbery, vandalism, and a stint in juvie. No judge in their right mind would grant him full custody, and...well, is that really what he wants? 

He’s never wanted kids. He’s not parenting material. He hates just hearing a baby cry in the supermarket. Just because his brain is swamped with hormones telling him to nurture and protect this baby doesn’t mean he’s ready to be anyone’s dad. He had the worst one in the fucking world and he barely remembers his mom, even though he’s pretty sure she died to get away from Terry Milkovich. Sometimes he’d almost envied her for that. 

So, yeah, nothing will change. He might get mushy about the baby from time to time, but it’s just temporary. Once he’s had it and Ian’s out of his life and raising it on his own...everything will gradually go back to normal. Maybe he’ll even manage to forget what an unbelievably good fuck Ian Gallagher was. 

Nah, there are some things he never wants to forget.

***

The next week, Ian meets him at the doctor’s office with a gift-wrapped box in hand.

“You know Christmas isn’t for three weeks, right?” Mickey says, with a pretty good idea what the gift is. “And I don’t have a tree to put that under.”

“You’re right--we need to go Christmas tree shopping!” Ian says, shoving the present at Mickey and digging in his coat for his phone. On closer inspection, he seems a little jumpy, like he’s had too much caffeine. 

“Uh, that can wait, too,” Mickey says, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. “Plenty of time. Sit down.”

Ian shakes his head. “No, we should get one soon, otherwise the good ones will be gone.”

“Ian, it’s just a tree,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. “And who are you even getting it for--me or you?”

Ian looks at him in surprise. “You, duh. I already have a tree. Got it yesterday.”

Mickey’s the one who’s surprised now. “You got a Christmas tree two days after Thanksgiving?”

Ian grins. “Yeah, I know a guy. It’s great, six-foot fir tree, takes up about half the room but it’s perfect. I was up all night decorating it.”

Mickey blinks. He’s about to say that’s nuts, but the nurse calls their names and he decides to leave it for now. 

***

“Are you still sure you don’t want to know the sex?” the nurse asks. “We can find out right now, if you’ve changed your mind.”

Ian nods. “I have, and I do. I mean, if that’s okay with Mickey.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mickey acquiesces. “But I only want Ian to know--I’ll, like, shut my eyes or something.” 

“How about I write it down and you can give it to Ian?”

That actually sounds like a good idea--kind of a thank-you present for Thanksgiving (and for what he’s pretty sure is the foot massager.) 

True to her word, the nurse scribbles a word down on a piece of paper, folds it in half and hands it to Mickey--who promptly shoves it in his pants’ pocket. 

“Hey!” Ian protests, laughing. “I was supposed to see that!”

“You still can, once we’re out of here,” Mickey says smugly.

***

“Okay,” Mickey says later in Ian’s car, drawing this out on purpose because seeing Ian almost bouncing in anticipation is incredibly entertaining. “My blood pressure’s back to normal, the baby’s perfectly healthy, and...what else did we find out today?”

“Mickey, come on!” Ian laughs. “Just tell me!”

Mickey scratches his head. “Yeah, I can’t remember, pregnancy brain and all that--where did I put that piece of paper?”

Just like he hoped he would, Ian plunges a hand right into Mickey’s pocket and gropes around more than is strictly necessary before pulling out the crumpled Post-it. 

He draws it out in triumph and opens it. His breath catches and he claps a hand over his mouth like he’s looking at a winning lottery ticket.

“It’s a girl.”

Mickey’s trying really hard not to tear up--fucking hormones--and smirks. “Told ya.”

Ian responds by grabbing him in a hug, and Mickey’s not really a hugger, but he allows it. Ian’s laughing and crying at the same time, and there’s a moment where he’s sure Ian’s about to kiss him.

This time, though, he doesn’t push him away.

Ian’s face is so close Mickey can feel his breath, and his eyes are flicking from Mickey’s lips to his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission. Mickey grins, curls a hand around the back of Ian’s neck, and nods.

Ian goes all in, and Mickey almost forgets how to breathe. But fucking hell, he doesn’t care--he could do this all day. They’re not big on kissing, preferring to do other things with their mouths before now. Mickey’s not even sure why. They’re synced up already, and Ian’s applying just enough pressure. He tastes like coffee and mint toothpaste, and Mickey is no longer sure what day it is or even what planet they’re on.

Ian’s hands are all over the place--on Mickey’s face, neck, hips--but they end up on his belly, tracing it like it’s a treasure map. Mickey smiles into the kiss, and their baby girl decides to get in on the action by kicking enthusiastically at Ian’s hands.

It’s enough to temporarily distract Ian, and he breaks the kiss to look down at the bump.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he coos, and Mickey chuckles at how sappy he sounds. Just when he thought Ian wasn’t going to be that kind of dad. 

“I love you already,” he goes on, and Mickey has to swipe at his eyes and glance around, because they’re still in a fucking parking lot and it’s not nearly as private as this kind of thing warrants. “And I can’t wait to meet you in twenty weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, that’s enough,” Mickey half-jokes, shoving him away. “We can continue this at home.”

***

“Why did you freak out earlier?”

Mickey lifts his head from where it’s buried in the crook of Ian’s neck. “When? Oh, you mean--on Thanksgiving?” He shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t usually get a feeling like that...like I know what the kid is. It threw me.” 

Ian’s rubbing Mickey’s belly slowly. “So you really meant that about not getting attached.”

Mickey lowers his eyes. “Can’t when it’s not my kid. But…” He sighs, rolling onto his back away from Ian. “But she is, man. I mean, I’m not gonna fight you for her or anything. But it’s not like it was the last couple of times.”

Ian folds his arms under his head. “I get it. And I’m not worried about you wanting to keep her.” He pauses. “But if you do change your mind...I mean, there’s still stuff we can do to make sure she’s in your life, too.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Mickey says quickly. He gets out of bed and starts tugging his clothes back on. “Hey, are we still gonna get that Christmas tree?”

***

They find a nice, reasonably-sized tree for Mickey’s tiny apartment, and Ian’s been online shopping all day, ordering him a ridiculous amount of presents to put under it.

But just as Ian’s getting ready to go, a car backfires outside and he actually shoves Mickey to the floor like a fucking bodyguard.

“The fuck, Gallagher, it was just a car!” Mickey sputters. “I think we both know what a gun sounds like!”

Ian’s still pressed against the wall, one hand firmly on Mickey’s back, and Mickey does not appreciate this at all. Well...okay, maybe a little, because seeing Ian in soldier mode is hot. But he’s still on the floor and the baby is squirming around in protest, and it was a stupid car. No need to go all “Call of Duty.”

“I don’t like this neighborhood,” Ian says, finally helping Mickey up. “It’s dangerous.”

“It’s pretty much the same as the one we grew up in,” Mickey points out, adjusting his shirt. “Just with better coffee shops.”

Ian is still keeping watch like he’s expecting someone to start throwing grenades through the window. 

“Maybe you should move. Find a bigger place.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Mickey snarks. “I can afford it cause I’m a fucking millionaire.”

“You could move in with me,” Ian says, oblivious to his sarcasm. “I have a two-bedroom and my roommate moved out six months ago. It would save you some money and it’s only about twenty minutes longer for your commute.”

Mickey stares at him. “Are you fucking serious? Ian, we’re not--I’m not your boyfriend here. We don’t have to move in together just because we’re having a baby and we fuck around a lot.”

“I want you to be safe!” Ian fires back. “I can’t sleep at night because I’m thinking ‘What if someone breaks into Mickey’s apartment’ or ‘What if Mickey gets mugged on his way home?’”

“I can take care of myself. I got four guns, two nightsticks, a couple dozen cans of mace, and if all else fails I can beat the shithead to death if I have to. I’m not helpless just because I’m fucking pregnant.”

“I know,” Ian says, softer this time. “I know you’re a badass. But it’s not just you anymore.” He glances at Mickey’s belly. “She needs to be safe, too. And the stress of living in a place like this isn’t good for either of you. Just...think about it, okay? Doesn’t have to be forever, just until she’s born. I’ll even help you find a new place if you want.”

Mickey still thinks it’s a bad idea, but then again...he’s had more than a few sleepless nights around here. It might be nice not to hear backfiring cars or gunplay outside every day. 

***

Eventually, Mickey decides to move in with Ian. It actually takes a bedbug infestation to convince him that his shithole apartment is exactly that, and after throwing out the tree, getting rid of his bed, washing all his clothes in hot water, and salvaging as much bug-free stuff as he can, he moves into Ian’s apartment. 

It’s nice. Not ultra-modern or any of that hipster crap, but nice. There are no weird smells or stains anywhere, the walls don’t have visible cracks, and Ian keeps the place gleaming--Army training, probably. Not to mention Mickey’s got his own half-bathroom, which will save them that awkward “walking in on each other” phase. 

He even gets a new bed--a queen-size memory-foam-top mattress so comfortable, Mickey falls asleep on it for three hours before he’s even done unpacking.

He can’t get over how quiet the place is. He can’t hear anything through the walls no matter what room he’s in. There’s not much traffic noise, either. It’s probably due to living higher up and facing away from the main street. Mickey doesn’t mind at all, even though there’s not much of a view from his room. He feels safer, less exposed. He can relax.

One day close to Christmas, he wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon, and smiles into his pillow. Ian’s making his favorite breakfast--not the bacon, cause he can’t eat that right now, but the eggs. He takes his time getting out of bed and shuffles into the kitchen to see Ian putting the plates on the table. 

“Morning,” Mickey mumbles, sitting down. “Smells good.”

“Made eggs Benedict,” Ian replies, putting Mickey’s plate down in front of him. “It was my first try, so be honest and tell me what you think.”

Mickey shrugs--he’s not too picky about food as long as it tastes good. And these eggs taste great, which he relates to Ian. 

The chef doesn’t look satisfied. “Are you sure? I thought they were a little runny. I’ll try again later.”

“Seriously, they’re good,” Mickey insists. “And if I could eat nitrates right now, I’d be all over that bacon, too.” 

Ian smiles, drumming his fingers on the tabletop while he eats said bacon. “I’m going for a run before work. Do you have a shift today?”

“Going in a little later,” Mickey says. “I hired a new guy this week, and I’m doing a trial by fire to see how he handles a pre-holiday rush. Even if he quits, there are plenty of people looking to make some extra money.”

“How are your feet?” Ian says, and Mickey blinks at the change of subject before he realizes what Ian’s implying. 

“Hm? Oh. Fine. I’ve got some foam thingies for my shoes, and I take a lot of breaks. I’m doing good. That foot massager you got me helps a lot, too.”

Ian gets up, practically jogging in place as he shoves a last piece of bacon into his mouth. 

“I still think you should take a few days off,” he says a bit indistinctly. “Go easy on yourself.”

“Look who’s talking!” Mickey laughs. “You’re making eggs, going for runs, taking extra shifts at work. What kind of energy drink you on?”

Ian laughs in reply, but doesn’t answer. “Gotta go. See you later.” He leans in and Mickey tugs on the drawstrings of his hoodie to pull him close enough to kiss. Then just like that, he’s off. Mickey half-expects to see a cartoon dust cloud behind him.

“Your dad’s crazy,” he says fondly to the bump. “But I like him.”

***

Mickey’s halfway through his lunch break when he gets a call from Fiona. She doesn’t usually call him unless there’s an emergency or she’s trying to get a hold of Ian, so he answers right away.

“Yeah?”

“Mickey!” She sounds frantic. “I just got a call from the police, Ian’s been shot. He’s at--”

She gives him the name of the hospital, but it barely registers because all he can think is how the FUCK did Ian get shot? Who shot him? Is he okay? Is he dead?

“We’re on our way there right now, but I thought you needed to know. Can you meet us there?”

Mickey realizes he hasn’t said a word since she started talking, and nods into the phone like a moron before choking out a coherent “Yes.” He hangs up, grabs his coat, and tells Jack, the guy he’s training, that he has to go and he’ll be back later.

“Family emergency,” he says by way of an explanation, and two seconds later he’s flagging down a taxi. 

***

He finds Lip and Fiona in the waiting room off of the ER, and every question he didn’t ask over the phone comes spilling out.

“What happened, is he okay, who did it--”

“Hey, hey,” Lip is the first one to get up. “He’s okay. He tried to stop a convenience store robbery by jumping the guy with the gun, and it got him in the side. The doctor said the bullet missed the vital organs and pretty much went right through him.”

“He’s in surgery now, and they think he’ll be fine,” Fiona adds, one hand hovering over Mickey’s shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay.”

Mickey feels like he’s been shot himself, and he has to sit down fast. 

“Fuck,” he says in a quavering voice. “I just saw him. He was going for a run. He made me eggs.”

Fiona and Lip exchange a look. 

“Mickey,” Fiona says gently. “Has Ian been weird lately?”

It takes him a second to focus on her. “Weird, like how?”

“Manic,” Lip clarifies. “Hyper, energetic, doing a lot of impulsive shit.”

Mickey tries to think. “I mean...I dunno, maybe. He’s not sleeping much, and he’s taken like three extra shifts this week. I just moved in last month, but--”

“You moved in together?” Fiona echoes. “That didn’t strike you as impulsive?”

Mickey glares at her. “My old place had bedbugs and drive-by shootings every other day. Ian was worried about me. Not like we’re getting married.”

She doesn’t seem placated, and Lip looks uneasy about this arrangement, too. 

Mickey tries not to let that bother him, but the more he thinks about it, the more he starts to question why Ian’s been so wired. 

“You know he has bipolar disorder, right?” Lip says after a minute. 

“Yeah, he told me,” Mickey says defensively. “It was one of the first things we talked about. He didn’t want me to agree to this”--He gestures to his bump-- “until I knew.”

Fiona nods. “Okay, but you’ve never seen him manic before, have you?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?” Mickey says irritably, far more concerned about how Ian’s doing under the knife right now. “No, I haven’t seen him manic.”

“Well, it kinda sounds like that’s why he tried to stop an armed robbery,” Lip explains. “He does shit like this if he’s manic for too long. But he usually just has to adjust his meds and see his therapist, and he gets better after a little while.”

“Whatever, I don’t fucking care about that,” Mickey says, waving a hand impatiently. “I just want to know if he’s okay.”

“We all do,” Fiona says with a considerable edge in her voice. “That’s why we’re here. But we also want him to be okay once he’s back home.”

Mickey crosses his arms over his belly and ignores her, staring down the hall like he expects to see Ian walking towards them at any second. 

Fucking bipolar disorder, manic shit….is that why Ian really wanted him to move in? Was this all just because he was losing it and Mickey didn’t even know? Should he have told someone, maybe gotten him some help? 

A chilling thought pops into his mind--was the baby an impulsive decision? No...Ian’s had almost six months to back out of this and he hasn’t given any indication that he’s changed his mind. Hell, yesterday he was obsessing over what kind of crib to buy based on safety reviews. That doesn’t strike Mickey as panicking over parenthood, just Ian wanting his kid to have a place to sleep. 

At the same time, though…what does he know about this? He didn’t even realize Ian was manic until today. 

He decides not to think about it, not until he knows Ian’s okay. That’s all that matters.

***

He hangs back and lets Fiona and Lip talk to Ian first, cause they know more about this stuff than he does. Ian’s still groggy, but he doesn’t put up much of an argument when they say they want him to come home for a few days, just until he’s more stable.

“Mickey?” Ian says, glancing over at him. “You okay?” 

Mickey can’t fucking believe him. “Am I okay? You’re the one who went full-on Seagal and got shot, asshole!”

Ian blinks. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough!” Mickey has no idea where all this is coming from, but dammit, Ian did something really stupid and it’s pissed him off. “If you need to be at home with your family until you get your head on straight, then go. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll keep you posted about the kid and....” He breaks off, the full realization that Ian could have fucking died hitting him. 

He covers his eyes, not about to start bawling in front of Ian’s siblings.

“Um, we’ll give you guys a minute,” Lip pipes up, and he and Fiona step out into the hall.

Mickey takes a huge breath and faces Ian.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says roughly. “But...fuck, Ian, you were sick and I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Ian says, so low that Mickey almost doesn’t catch the words. “I thought I was okay. Right up until I got shot, I thought I could handle it and just go home, take my downers, and you’d never know. I didn’t…I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey replies instantly. “If all you said was ‘Hey, I need to adjust my meds,’ I wouldn’t have questioned it. Well...maybe I would have, but I wouldn’t have been worried, because you said you’ve had this since you were seventeen and you know what to do about it. Fuck…” He tries to put what he’s feeling into words--never a strong point for him. “Ian, you might have been killed.” 

Ian nods, looking down at his hands. “I know. And I’m sorry, Mick. Really.”

Mickey doesn’t know what else to say, so he kind of just stands there. 

“Are...are you gonna spend Christmas with them?” he asks, trying to gauge just how long Ian’s going to be gone for without sounding clingy. 

“Probably. You can come over if you want.”

Mickey shrugs. “Ah, I don’t really do Christmas.” He doesn’t say that up until today, he was thinking of making an exception to that rule.

Ian seems to see through that, but doesn’t push the issue. “Okay, but…”

“It’s fine,” Mickey interrupts, not wanting to drag this out because the only other thing on his mind is Do you really want this baby, or was this just another bipolar decision you’re going to regret? This is not the time or the place to talk about it. Also, he’s afraid of the answer. 

He crosses to Ian and kisses him, unable to help himself. Ian smells as good as he always does, and a part of Mickey doesn’t want to leave him. But he has to. Ian has to get better, and Mickey can’t help him do that.

Ian leans his forehead against Mickey’s.

“Mick…” he murmurs, but Mickey’s already fighting off more tears, so he steps back and roughly pats Ian’s cheek. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” he says, all he trusts himself to say. Before Ian can reply, Mickey leaves the room and doesn’t look back. 

*TBC*


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian celebrate Christmas and clear some things up.

Not celebrating Christmas is harder this year, especially given the giant tree and the heaps of presents underneath it. Oh, and the decorations that Ian’s put up all over the place. It looks like fucking Santa’s Workshop in their living room. 

Mickey ignores all of it, wishing he could drink himself into oblivion like he does every other year. Instead, he makes do with curling up on the couch under a blanket and watching the loudest action movie he can find on Netflix to drown out the thoughts in his head. 

He nods off despite all the noise, and wakes up when the movie’s over and his phone is ringing. He grabs it and sees that it’s Mandy. 

“Hello?” he says, sitting up slightly. It’s past midnight, so either this is some kind of emergency or she’s drunk. Could be both, knowing her. 

“Merry Christmas, asshole!”

Well, it’s definitely not an emergency. 

“Mands, it’s late,” Mickey says, rubbing his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“No, just happy to be home!” Mandy says, sounding unusually cheerful. “I just checked into my hotel and the jet lag is keeping me awake. Want to come over?”

“Not tonight,” Mickey says. “Gotta get my eight hours.”

“You sound like shit. What’s up?”

Mickey sighs. She already knows about the surrogacy and that Ian’s the dad, but they haven’t talked for a while. He’s not sure he has the energy to fill her in on everything right now.

“Ian’s sick, we moved in together, and I think he only wants a kid because he was manic or whatever. Oh, and he’s with his family for Christmas, so I’m at his place alone.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“I’m coming over,” Mandy says finally. “You can’t be alone on Christmas.”

“No, it can wait till morning,” Mickey groans. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“You’re alone and knocked up and you’re my fucking brother. I’ll be there soon, stay awake.”

***

Mandy shows up a little over an hour later, bags in hand.

“You look like hell,” she states once she gets a good look at him. 

“Thanks,” Mickey grunts. 

“I mean you look worried,” she continues, toeing off her shoes and sitting down on the couch. “So what’s been going on?”

“Lemme use the can first, then I’ll tell you,” he says, stalling for time. She laughs when the blanket he’s got around him slips off his belly.

“Holy shit, you’re huge! You having twins this time?” 

“Fuck you,” Mickey says automatically. “Order a pizza or something or I’m kicking you out.”

By the time he gets back, she’s doing exactly that, and she’s moved to one of the chairs so he can have the couch to himself again. 

“Seriously, what’s wrong with Ian?” she says once she hangs up. 

Mickey recounts what’s been going on for the past few months, and how now he’s not even sure Ian wants the kid anymore, in light of recent events. 

“Bullshit,” Mandy says with an absurd amount of confidence. “He’s wanted kids all his life. He’ll be a great dad. And if he even thinks about leaving you stuck with this one, I’ll kill him myself, promise.”

“No, don’t,” Mickey sighs. “I mean, I almost wouldn’t blame him. He had a crazy mom with the same disease. He probably doesn’t want to end up like her.”

“Have you talked to him about any of this?” Mandy asks, and rolls her eyes when he shrugs. “Of course not. You dumb fuck, just call him. Ask him what he’s thinking. Better than worrying about it all through Christmas.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Mickey says, stretching out on the couch. “Save me some pizza.”

“Dipshit,” Mandy replies, but not without some affection. 

***

Christmas is quiet, but not as bad as it might have been if it was just him alone. 

He and Mandy share the rest of the pizza for breakfast and open presents. Only a couple are actually for Mandy because Mickey forgot to mail them to her, but she’s happy nonetheless. 

Ian got him a lot of comfy clothes, winter stuff, and several bottles of flavored lube. Mandy cracks up and tries to steal one of them, but Mickey grabs it back.

“Get your own,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. 

“My own lube or a baby-daddy?” she quips. “Cause I know which one I’d rather have.”

“He’s not--” Mickey fumbles for a word that accurately describes what Ian is to him. “He’s…”

“Your boyfriend?” Mandy grins at him. “You guys live together, you’re having a baby with him, and you like him. So what else would he be?”

Mickey shakes his head. “It’s not like that. Once this kid’s out, I’m out. We’re not gonna live happily ever after or anything like that.”

“You never know,” Mandy sing-songs. “Maybe he’ll fall hopelessly in love with you and want you to be the little bug’s other dad.”

“Shut up,” Mickey snaps, a little harshly. But he means it--he’s not in this to get a boyfriend or a baby. This was a simple business arrangement, how he’s made his living for the past four years, and Ian probably won’t be his last client. 

But he’s the first one to make Mickey forget this was supposed to be just business. 

Mandy sees the look on his face. “If he really doesn’t want the kid, he’ll tell you and you two will work it out. He’s not gonna just leave you high and dry.”

Mickey doesn’t meet her eyes.

***

He calls Ian after lunch, figuring he’ll be too busy with family stuff to answer his phone. But Ian picks right up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Mickey says. “Um...Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good,” Mickey replies. “Mandy’s here for a little bit, came over last night. I think you should probably come back before she decides to move in, too.” The last part is a joke, and he hopes Ian doesn’t think he’s pressuring him to come home.

“Tell her hi for me,” Ian says warmly. “I’m glad you guys got to hang out.”

“I will. Um...how’s your side? I mean, where you were shot?”

“It’s good. Healing. I have to take it easy for a while, not do anything to pull the stitches.”

“Thanks for the presents,” Mickey says, immediately wanting to change the subject. “The lube is…” He isn’t sure what to say about it, besides how much he wishes they were using it right now. “It’s good stuff.” Brilliant. Genius. For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with him?

“I know,” Ian sounds amused. “It’s your favorite kind.”

If the situation was different, Mickey would segue into some pretty X-rated dirty talk. But he’s not sure if Ian’s in the mood to appreciate it.

“Mick--”

“Hey, so--” 

They both break off, and laugh a little. 

“You first,” Mickey says generously. 

“Okay. Um...I just wanted to say that I’m doing better. It’s been a rough week, but I’m feeling more like myself, and I wanted you to know so you wouldn’t worry too much about me.”

Wow, that’s….that’s nice. Mickey tries to keep it together on his end and smiles.

“Thanks,” he manages. “Uh...I want to talk to you in person. It’s about the kid, and everything we’re doing, and...everything. We really need to talk.”

Ian sighs. “I thought you might say that. When do you want to meet?”

“Tomorrow?” The sooner the better, he thinks. 

“Can’t, I’m working. But what about New Year’s?”

Mickey considers. “Okay. Where?”

“I’ll come home,” Ian says, and Mickey’s heart fucking leaps in his chest, which surprises him. He didn’t realize how much he missed Ian until he said that. 

“Okay, great,” Mickey says, trying not to sound as thrilled as he feels. “Around one?”

“Sure. See you then.”

***

Mickey spends most of the week after Christmas working at the bar and spending time with Mandy before she goes back to California. She makes him go back to sleeping in his new bed instead of the couch, and hassles him about taking his vitamins and not eating too much takeout, which he tends to do without Ian around. By the time she leaves for the airport, he’s thankful to have the place to himself again--for about a day.

But at night, he goes over what he wants to say when Ian comes back. He isn’t sure how it’s all going to go, what Ian’s going to say or if he’ll even understand what Mickey has to say to him. 

“Look, whatever happens,” Mickey says to the baby, a habit he’s picked up lately. “He’s still your dad. I won’t let him just walk away, okay?”

She responds by kicking him in the kidney. 

***

On New Year’s Day, Mickey can’t stay inside for one more second. To hell with the cold, he decides to wait outside on the front steps of the building until Ian gets there. 

He still wants a cigarette--he used to love smoking them this time of year--but he’s settled for decaf from Starbucks. What the hell, it’s warm and has a lot of chemicals in it, so it’s a decent trade-off.

Finally, after what seems like days, he sees Ian coming down the street. Mickey forgets all about the serious talk they’re due to have because all he wants in the fucking world is to drag this guy upstairs and into bed. 

“Hey,” Ian says, jogging up the steps to Mickey. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Mickey echoes, and as soon as Ian’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the front of his coat and pulls him in for a kiss. Ian responds effortlessly, and they sort of stumble against the front doors.

All too soon, Ian’s pulling away. 

“We should go inside,” he says. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Didn’t notice,” Mickey’s enjoying just having Ian close enough to wrap one hand around the back of his neck and fist the other in his coat, near his hip. 

Ian’s own hands are trailing from Mickey’s shoulders to his belly, and he laughs when he gets a better look at it.

“Wow, she grew!”

Mickey glances down and chuckles wryly. “Yeah, had a little growth spurt. It happens right around the third trimester.” It’s crazy to think that only two months from now, she’ll actually be here.

That thought, combined with Ian’s comment, reminds him of why they’re together again. Much as he would like to turn this into a celebratory fuck session, they do have things to discuss. 

“Come on inside,” he says, like he’s the one who lives here and not Ian. “Let’s talk.”

***

Ian wants the baby. Just like Mandy said, he’s always wanted to be a dad, and the only time he was unsure about that was in the first few years after his diagnosis.

“I spent months talking to my therapist about this,” he admits. “And Fiona and Lip and everyone else I knew. I didn’t want anybody thinking what you did--that this was my disease talking, making the decision for me. I should have made that clearer the first time we met. I was afraid it would be overwhelming and you’d decide not to do it. I’d already spoken to two potential surrogates, and they both turned me down, and I got a little paranoid that that was why.”

Mickey nods. “I get it. But between you and me, I’ve had kids for people way more fucked up than you. They were just less honest about it. One guy was cheating on his wife with three other women and she thought having a baby would make him stop. The other time, the parents freaked out because they thought the baby might have some congenital problem, and almost told me to get an abortion.”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you?”

“No, it turned out to be nothing. Everyone was happy.” 

Ian’s quiet for a minute. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, even if there was something wrong. I don’t care if she has problems, or comes out with two heads--”

“Hey!” Mickey says in a mock-offended tone. 

“I mean you don’t have to worry,” Ian says, smiling. “She’s a Gallagher. We’re used to fucked-up.”

“She may be a Gallagher, but she kicks like a Milkovich,” Mickey remarks, wincing when the kid in question belts him in the ribs. “Calm down, will ya? He said he wants you, relax.”

Ian leans in and puts a hand on Mickey’s belly. “Take it out on me, not him,” he says gently. “He’s doing his best. It takes a lot to put up with one of us, let alone two.”

“Worth it,” Mickey says without thinking. 

Ian looks up at him. “Really?”

Mickey could backtrack, make a joke, move away. He’s a master at sidestepping moments like these. And he probably should, because the fact that Ian still wants the baby doesn’t account for the fact that they have gone completely off the beaten path of surrogate-client and are practically, in Mandy’s words, boyfriends. 

Ian’s still staring at him, and Mickey can’t believe how sweet and trusting he looks right now--

\--and goddammit, Mickey’s in love with him. This was not part of the plan. 

But he really doesn’t care. Because even if the kid wasn’t in the picture, he would still want Ian. 

“Really,” he says at last. “I…” He can’t quite say the words yet, so he shifts onto his knees and tugs Ian closer. Ian kisses him, and that’s all they do for a while. That and some hand stuff, and at one point Mickey just starts laughing. 

“Fuck,” he says helplessly. “What are we doing?”

Ian looks up, his hand still down Mickey’s pants. “What, do you want me to stop?”

“No, not that,” Mickey protests. “I mean, we’re--we’re living together and we’re fucking almost every day, and I told myself it didn’t mean anything because all you wanted was the baby, but...shit, are we boyfriends now?”

He wanted it to sound like a joke, but it doesn’t. Ian takes his hand out of Mickey’s pants and touches his cheek instead, smiling like he thought he’d never ask. 

“If you want to be. Do you?”

“Fuck yeah, I do!” Mickey says instantly, throwing every other thought and concern out the door because Ian’s right, he doesn’t have to worry anymore. Not about what they are to each other, and not about whether or not Ian is serious about the baby. It feels like a weight is off him, and now all he wants to do is celebrate. Ideally by enjoying the hand-job that Ian’s briefly stopped giving him.

*TBC*


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are raised, and declarations are made.

“So, what does your birth plan look like?” their doctor asks the next time they’re at her office. 

Mickey shrugs. “Same as before. Lots of drugs, induction if I need it, and…” He glances at Ian. “Do you mind if I don’t hold her when she’s born? Nothing personal, just…”

Ian nods. “No, yeah, of course. I’ll take her. Don’t worry.”

“Not looking forward to going back to the hospital, though,” Mickey admits. “I really hate not being able to eat and having people jam their fucking fingers into me every hour. It gets old.”

“Well...you don’t actually have to have it in the hospital.” Ian looks at the doctor. “Right? I mean, my sister had hers on our kitchen table.”

“The fuck?” Mickey sputters. “I’m not doing that!” 

“I think what Mr. Gallagher means is that home birth is an option,” the doctor interjects dryly. “As long as you’re in good health and there are no complications, a home birth can be more relaxing and less stressful than at a hospital.”

“But…” Mickey says, taken aback by a choice he never knew he had. “But everyone has their kids at hospitals. They only do it at home if they can’t make it there, right?”

“Sometimes,” Ian admits. “I mean, I’ve definitely gone on calls where I’ve had to deliver babies because labor progressed a lot faster than expected.” 

Mickey’s impressed. “You know how to do that? Then why are we bothering with a hospital anyway?”

Ian laughs. “Because I’m not a midwife or an OB. I have enough training to safely deliver a baby in an emergency, but it’s not something I do every day. If you want to do this at home, we’ll need extra help.” 

Mickey gets that, but he doesn’t like the idea of having anyone but Ian around when the special day comes. Even before now, he didn’t love having the parents in the same room because of their tendency to document everything on their phones or act like they were the ones dilating right along with him. 

“What about drugs, though?” Mickey says. “Guessing I can’t have a morphine drip at home.”

“No,” the doctor replies. “I’m afraid not. There are meditative ways to deal with the pain, however. My own sister had a hypno-birth.”

This time, they both look at her.

“A hypno-what?” Mickey repeats. 

“It sounds a little New Age-y, but it’s where the parent uses visualization, meditation and breathing techniques to deal with contractions. She had a very positive experience.”

Ian and Mickey share a glance.

“Yeah, I trust drugs more,” is Mickey’s final answer. 

***

“Are you sure about this?”

“It’s my third delivery,” Mickey says, trying to remember where he put the big rubber ball that the first pair of parents gave him. “I know what contractions feel like, and I can handle it. Besides, it’ll probably go fast. First time it took eighteen hours, next time was about twelve. This time, who knows? Might go into labor at breakfast and be pushing her out by lunchtime.”

“Okay, but I meant are you sure you just want me with you? I can make some calls, get the names of some really good midwives.”

Mickey shakes his head, spotting the half-deflated gray ball in the back of his closet. “Nah, I don’t want somebody I just met shoving their fingers in me. You, I don’t mind so much.”

Ian chuckles, gently pushing him aside to dig the ball out of the closet himself. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Want me to incorporate that into your birth plan--constant fingering? Might take the edge off.”

Mickey looks at him. “Didn’t think you were into that, Gallagher.”

“It’s not a kink,” Ian explains. “It’s a pleasure-pain thing. The idea is that if you’re feeling enough pleasure, it offsets the pain.”

“Still sounds kinky. But sure, if I feel like it. Fair warning, though, I get a little...weird during labor. Like, I don’t want anybody near me and I seriously want to bite anyone who gets close.”

“You go feral,” Ian muses. “I’ll remember that. Are you nervous?”

‘Bout what?” Mickey says, now looking for the pump that goes with the ball. “I’ve done this twice already. The process doesn’t change much.”

“But you’ll be doing it here, without pain meds, and you’ll be fully alert,” Ian points out. “It won’t be the same.”

Mickey realizes this, but he’s shoved it to the back of his mind and told himself that he can handle it. He’s experienced enough forms of pain in his life to teach him that pain itself doesn’t kill you. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, taking the pump out of the closet and handing it to Ian. “Now can you get some air into that thing so I can start using it? It’s good for my hips.”

Ian kisses Mickey on the cheek. 

“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?”

Mickey grabs his ass. “I don’t see you pushing this kid out, so yeah, I do.”

“Touché.” 

***

“We should do something.”

Mickey lifts his head off the couch arm and presses his foot more firmly into Ian’s hands. 

“You done already? Cankles don’t go away by themselves.”

“I meant something outside the apartment,” Ian says, tickling Mickey’s instep enough to make him laugh and squirm. “We’ve been kind of hermits lately.”

“It’s cold out,” Mickey says, eyes on the TV where celebrities are getting yelled at for screwing up some kind of baking challenge. “We go outside, we freeze. We stay in, we have sex, watch TV and stay warm.”

“Yeah, but I’m starting to miss doing other stuff,” Ian says. “Isn’t there anything you’d rather do tonight?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Oh, you want the list? Drink, smoke some pot, maybe do a little coke if you’ve got it--”

“Mickey!”

“I’m not saying I will, but it’s been a while,” Mickey says, holding up his hands appeasingly. “We could go to a movie, but fair warning, I’ll need an aisle seat cause I have to pee every five minutes.”

“Nothing good’s playing,” Ian replies. “There’s a game night at the bar across the street tomorrow. How much do you know about nineties pop groups?”

“Not enough to give a shit,” Mickey says flatly. “You can take literally anyone else if you want, but if that’s all that’s going on outside, I’ll stay here.”

Ian traces his fingers up Mickey’s leg. “So, what option does that leave us with?”

Mickey smiles.

***

Ian acts a little weird for the next few days, despite the very satisfactory sex they had after their “staying in” talk. He’s not acting like he did when he was manic, so Mickey tries not to worry. But he keeps looking things up on his phone and not letting Mickey see. He also has been disappearing up to the top level of the building for some reason, and Mickey can’t imagine why. As far as he knows, there isn’t much up there. 

Mickey stays busy with work and learning breathing exercises (no way is he going to those stupid Lamaze classes and looking like a dick in front of total strangers--there are plenty of YouTube videos to learn from, thanks.) He has to admit, the closer the due date gets, the more apprehensive he feels about giving birth without pain meds. He watched plenty of birthing videos the last couple of times, and the idea of doing that without something to take the edge off, at least? He isn’t sure how he’ll manage. 

Then again, how hard could it be a third time around? His body already knows what to do, and with any luck, it’ll be over on the same day it begins. 

Hopefully. 

***

“Ian?” Mickey calls, coming inside after one of the longest work days in recent memory, when not one but two shipments of alcohol have been delayed due to crap weather. He’s had to water down beer to the point where it’s practically La Croix, and assure some increasingly testy patrons that their poisons of choice will be flowing freely again in no more than a week. Hopefully.

“I know we’re overdoing the old-married-couple thing lately, but I’ve had a shit day and I just wanna…” He trails off when he sees a folded note on the kitchen counter with “Mickey” written on it.

Mickey picks it up and reads the message inside, which just says “Meet me on the roof, wear something warm. Bring your appetite.” 

“The fuck?” Mickey says tiredly. He’s really not in the mood for whatever Ian’s trying to do, sweet as it might be in theory. But then he thinks about Ian waiting on that roof in the cold, freezing his balls off like an idiot because he just wants to do something nice for Mickey, and what’s an hour or two of humoring his boyfriend gonna cost him, really?

“Fine, Gallagher,” Mickey sighs, tugging off his coat. He texts Ian to say he got the note and he’ll be up as soon as he’s changed his clothes.

***

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey says by way of greeting about twenty minutes later, when he finds the door to the roof propped open and Ian sitting by a crackling fire pit in the middle of the concrete surface. 

“Hey!” Ian says cheerfully, walking over to him. “Hungry?”

“Starving. What are we doing, roasting marshmallows?”

“Maybe later,” Ian says, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “C’mon, it’s nice and warm over here. I’ve got dinner ready.” 

“Since when did you become a Boy Scout?” Mickey snarks. 

Ian ignores him and ushers him to one of the two fold-out nylon chairs in front of the fire pit. 

“Have a seat,” he says, and Mickey lowers himself down. There’s a blanket on the back of the chair that he pulls over himself. Something smells really good.

“Grilled cheese,” Ian says, handing Mickey a foil-wrapped sandwich. “And I made some chicken kebabs, too, if you want one. We actually do have marshmallows, but those are for the s’mores.”

Mickey laughs appreciatively, his crankiness evaporating in the face of delicious food and the novelty of all this.

“Fuckin’ A,” he says after one bite. “This is great.” 

Ian smiles. “Glad you like it. So, how was your day?”

Mickey recounts the story of the perpetually late alcohol, and Ian tells him about a call that turned out to be a cat stuck in a tree.

“Seriously? The old bat didn’t even call the fire department?” Mickey laughs. 

“It was her granddaughter, actually,” Ian says. “She was six and it was the only number she knew. We got the cat down and told her not to call us again unless Grandma was really sick.”

Mickey shakes his head, brushing sandwich crumbs off his sweater. “Kids, man. I can’t believe you want to do this on your own.”

“I’m looking into hiring a nanny,” Ian says, chewing on a kabob. “And my entire family, even Liam, wants to help, too. I won’t be doing this alone.”

Mickey feels a sudden need to assure him that he’ll help out, too, until he remembers exactly where his role in all this ends. 

“Hey,” he says, not wanting to kill the mood but figuring this is as good a time as any to address the issue. “After the baby’s here...are we still gonna be a thing? How’s that gonna work, exactly?”

Ian looks at him, pausing mid-chew. He looks like he might not have thought about it. 

That’s not good. 

“I meant what I said a while back,” he says finally. “We can do visitations, and partial custody. She can still be yours, too.”

“I don’t mean that,” Mickey says impatiently. “I mean, what are we gonna be? Will we still do stuff like this”---he makes a broad gesture to encompass the fire pit-- “or will you just show up at my door whenever you feel like a fuck?”

Shit, that did not come out right. 

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Ian says, a little tersely. “If that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not just my surrogate anymore.”

“Yeah, I fucking figured that much,” Mickey says, annoyed that they can’t seem to get on quite the same wavelength. “But you’re gonna have to look after her, and do all the stuff that comes with having a baby, and I don’t want to be the dick boyfriend who keeps nagging you about date nights and shit.” He grimaces, wishing he was better at getting straight to the point, because no matter what he says, it doesn’t sound right somehow.

“You don’t want to be just my boyfriend, either?” Ian offers, like he’s trying to decode what Mickey’s saying. 

“Right. I don’t…” Mickey trails off, actually thinking about what he’s trying to say before letting it come out of his mouth for once. His fingers tap his belly subconsciously. 

“I’m not really ready to be a dad,” he says at last. “I don’t know if I ever will be. But you’re ready. You got this. She’s lucky to have you.”

Ian huffs a surprised breath. “You think so?”

“Don’t go all modest on me, Gallagher,” Mickey snarks. “You know you’ll be good at this. But I don’t want to pretend she doesn’t exist. I know that legally, she won’t be mine, but...I want to help out. I want to know her. I mean, I’ll technically be dating a single dad in about two months. Might as well make a good impression on his kid.”

Ian smiles at him. “Yeah. Of course I want you to know her.”

“So,” Mickey just wants to be clear about this, because they’re only talking about taking both of their lives and intertwining them for-fucking-ever, “We stay together, I help you with the baby, and...I still live here?”

“If you want to.”

Mickey laughs. “Yeah, I kinda do.” He looks over at Ian, and for once, feels like he could actually say what he’s been wanting to say for weeks, but the kid in question decides to punch him in the bladder and he has to focus on getting up out of the chair instead.

Ian gets up to help, and Mickey steadies himself in his arms, and holy crap, Ian looks amazing in the firelight. His face is half-shadowed, but his freckles and cheekbones are highlighted by the flames. And this is the guy he gets to stay with and have a baby for. How did that happen?

“You okay?” Ian says, tilting his head worriedly. 

“What? No--yeah, fine,” Mickey replies. “Um...bathroom. Be right back.”

***

Just fucking say it.

Mickey stares into the bathroom mirror, trying to psyche himself up to go back out there and just tell Ian how he feels. It’s three words. Three stupid, incredibly important words that’ll change everything. Officially. He can’t take them back or write them off as hormones, because he doesn’t want to mess with Ian’s head that way. 

But at some point, he has to say the words. Out loud. To Ian. And that seems like three steps too many right now. 

“Fucking pussy,” Mickey grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s had two kids. He’s about to push out a third without pain medication. He’s shot people, threatened lives, stolen shit from upstanding business owners with guns, and lived with a man who thought nothing of pistol-whipping his kids whenever he wanted. So why is the thought of telling Ian--the best person he’s ever met, the father of his baby, and the best guy he’s ever fu--been in a relationship with--that he loves him so terrifying?

Maybe because Ian hasn’t said it first. He’s said a lot of things that sound like it, but not those words exactly. Which leaves Mickey with virtually no safety net. He’s either going to tell Ian and be rejected, or hear the words back. Not a lot of third options.

“Mickey? Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Mickey calls back automatically. “Uh...be out in a sec.”

He flushes the toilet, washes up, and finds Ian right outside the door, looking worried. 

“You didn’t come back,” he says, and Mickey kisses him before he can lose his nerve. Ian reciprocates, and it’s great and everything but it’s not talking. 

Mickey breaks the kiss, pulls back just far enough to speak, and looks Ian in the eye.

“I love you.”

Ian’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Surprised?” Mickey quips, a little desperately.

“No,” Ian says softly. “I love you, too.”

“Awesome,” Mickey replies, and they kiss again. 

“You want to go back for dessert, or--?”

“Sure, unless some of that flavored lube goes with marshmallows.”

***

Mickey hates the last two months, and yet always seems to forget how bad they really are. Maybe he should get that checked out.

Mobility is an issue because he can’t get up on ladders or anything higher than a barstool these days. Forget lifting anything heavier than a carton of juice, too. Jack has to take over inventory and stocking, which would be fine if it meant Mickey could relax and sit on his ass all day, but he can’t. Hell, just sitting isn’t comfortable anymore, and forget lying down--at home, he needs two body pillows and Ian to help him get comfortable enough to sleep for a few hours. And he can’t remember the last time his back, hips, and everything in between didn’t ache in some way. 

But the worst part is that his sex drive has decided to take a long vacation. The last time he felt remotely horny was the night of his and Ian’s rooftop dining experience. It had been awesome. It had also been the last time they had sex in three and a half weeks, and Mickey’s starting to wish he hadn’t taken the increased libido of the second trimester for granted. The last two times, he’d been happily single and barely noticed that he didn’t want to fuck anyone. This time, he’s painfully aware of the fact.

But Ian, thank God, seems to understand and is happy to keep things G-rated (well, more like strictly PG-13) between them. Mickey has endless fantasies of what he would do to Ian, and what he’d let Ian to do to him, if he wasn’t pregnant right now, and those are enough to create enough sensation downstairs that he can remember this dry spell is not forever.

***

It’s three in the morning and Ian hasn’t come to bed yet.

They started sharing Mickey’s bed weeks ago. One of them would always nod off shortly after sex, and instead of being annoyed, Mickey actually likes having Ian in his bed. It makes him feel secure. Ian obviously doesn’t mind Mickey’s morning breath or constant moving. Besides, Mickey falls asleep faster when Ian’s there.

But he was still up when Mickey went to bed, so he’s a little concerned.

After his latest bathroom trip, Mickey sees a light on in Ian’s room, which he’s been working on turning into the nursery. He hasn’t let Mickey see what he’s done so far, and Mickey’s not interested in onesies and diapers or whatever babies need, so he hasn’t been curious.

Until now, anyway. 

He shuffles toward the door and pushes it open. 

The first thing he sees is Ian asleep in an overstuffed armchair in the corner. Then Mickey steps further into the room and takes everything in.

It’s not fancy, but there’s a crib against one wall, a changing table set up next to it, and tons of stuffed animals crowding the bookshelves on the walls and the dresser near the window. 

Above the dresser, there’s a picture frame of Ian’s siblings, Ian and Mandy in high school, and right in the middle is one of Mickey and Ian. Mickey’s looking at the camera, laughing, and Ian’s got his arms around him, kissing his neck. 

Mickey gets choked up just looking at it. They look happy. More than that, they look like any couple in love, excited about having a baby. 

He hears a noise and turns to see Ian blinking blearily up at him.

“Mick? What time is it?”

“About three,” Mickey says quietly. “Did you fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, rubbing at his eyes. “Good practice for when she’s here.” He brushes a hand against Mickey’s belly as he gets up.

“Come back to bed,” Mickey urges. “You did a great job in here.”

Ian looks around. “You think? I still need some stuff for--”

“Ian,” Mickey says, grabbing his shoulder. “Bed. Now. That shit can wait.”

Ian lets him push him gently out the door, but stops in the doorway. 

“Do you like it?”

Mickey glances back at the setup.

“Yeah. I love it.”


	4. Part 4

Right around the end of February, everything goes balls up. 

It starts with waking up freezing one morning to find that the heat is out in their building, and the superintendent is on vacation for another three days and can’t get anyone to fix it until he gets back.

Mickey says they can just use space heaters, but Ian insists on moving them back into the Gallagher house for at least a week, until their apartment isn’t a 50-degree icebox anymore.

Sharing Ian’s old twin bed isn’t great, but the house is warm and they have it mostly to themselves, with just Debbie, Lip and Liam coming and going between work and school. They’re friendly enough to Mickey and they have some pretty fun dinners together, which is nice.

For a few days, everything seems to be calming down. Then a pipe bursts in the bar and Mickey has to close it down, hire a plumber, get an estimate, and call the dumb shits at the insurance company who only want to pay about half of what it’ll cost to fix. 

“What’s the fucking point of insurance if I end up paying anyway?” Mickey gripes after one more fruitless phone call. He’s talking to himself--Ian’s at work and the house is empty. He’d appreciate the peace and quiet if he wasn’t facing the prospect of shelling out thousands of dollars for a plumbing repair. 

Well, when all else fails...He’s scrolling through his phone, trying to find someone who can do the repairs for way less, when he feels a contraction that makes him stop and put the phone down for a second.

“No,” he grunts, tapping his belly when it’s over. “Cut that shit out. You got another week to cook and you’re not coming early if I can help it.” He can’t, of course, but if he had a choice, he’d rather do this in the comfort of his own apartment with Ian by his side and all the baby stuff right in the next room. Having it here is not an option.

So he does what he’s trained himself to do since childhood and ignores the pain, even when it happens several times over the next hour. It means nothing, because it’s not labor and he’s got a place of business to salvage. He doesn’t have time for anything else.

***

About four hours later, Mickey’s curled up on Ian’s bed, trying to breathe through the last contraction that he’s pretty sure by now is real. Which means the ones before it were real, too, which means...this is happening now. 

He fumbles for his phone and calls Ian, who picks up immediately.

“Mick? What’s wrong?”

“Your fucking kid’s decided she wants out,” Mickey growls, cutting right to the chase. “Get your ass back here now so we can go home.”

“Holy fuck!” Ian yelps. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be right there.”

“Good!” Mickey snarls and hangs up. He isn’t actually mad at Ian, but every instinct in him is telling him to not let anyone get near him. He has no control over it, it just happens. But it’s okay, he tells himself, because soon they’ll be back home and it’ll be just the two of them, and...well...soon it’ll be three of them. 

Fuck. He hasn’t really let himself think that far ahead. 

Ian gets back in record time, and Mickey’s already got his stuff together and is waiting by the door.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, shouldering his bag. Ian looks momentarily confused.

“Wait--do you actually want to go to the hospital?”

“No, dipshit,” Mickey snaps. “Let’s go home. I’m not having this kid on your freaking kitchen table like your sister.”

“Wait,” Ian says, stepping in front of him as he tries to get to the front door. “Mick, we can’t go home. The heat’s still not working and it’s going to be below freezing tonight. I talked to the super and they’re sending someone over tomorrow, but--”

“So we’ll put a lot of blankets on the bed and crank up the space heaters,” Mickey protests. “Ian, come on, I can’t do this here. It’s…” He trails off, not sure how to explain. 

“Not familiar?” Ian surmises. “I get that. And I’m sorry, but we really don’t have a choice. It’s here or the hospital, and I know you said you didn’t want to do that this time.”

“I don’t,” Mickey says, feeling like everything’s slipping out of his control. “But.. but this is your house. I can’t just…”

“Yes, you can,” Ian says soothingly, in what Mickey’s come to recognize as his “EMT voice.” “You can do this wherever you feel most comfortable. I’ll call Vee and ask her to come over, cause she’s got medical training, and in a few hours...we’ll have a baby. It’s gonna be okay.”

Mickey presses his head briefly against Ian’s chest. “Promise?”

Ian kisses the top of his head. “I promise.”

***

“Do you remember the day we met?”

Mickey looks up at Ian from where he’s kneeling against the bed, arms folded on top of the mattress. The last contraction was a bitch and a half, and now it sounds like Ian’s trying to distract him from thinking about how bad the next one’s going to be.

“The Kash-n-Grab?” Mickey says, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, I was there to kill you for fucking my sister. Allegedly.”

“No, not that day,” Ian says, smiling. “The day we met at the fertility clinic, when you volunteered to do this for me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mickey sighs. “Remind me never to do that again.”

Ian laughs and rubs his back. “The second you walked in, I thought, ‘Holy shit, he looks good.’ I almost didn’t recognize you without your usual layer of grime.”

Mickey flips him off, leaning his head onto his hands. 

“But then I saw your knuckle tats, and I figured you couldn’t be that different,” Ian continues. “And when you told me about the other two times you’d done this, I realized you were serious. I was impressed.”

“Yeah,” Mickey grunts. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“You know what made me sure I wanted you to have my kid?”

“Ian,” Mickey lifts his head. “I’m really not feeling romantic right now, so can you get to the fucking point?”

“It’s not that romantic,” Ian says calmly. “It was when you said ‘Do you want to do this like we used to?’ after we talked about the insemination.”

Mickey snorts. “That’s what made you want me?”

“No, it was that you remembered me and the times we used to hook up in the back of that store. You hadn’t forgotten any more than I had. That’s what convinced me this might actually work.”

Mickey laughs in spite of himself. 

“Anyone packing nine inches is hard to forget,” he remarks. “Especially someone who looked like a ginger Justin Bieber.” 

“I did not look like Justin Bieber!” Ian protests playfully. 

“Your hair did,” Mickey teases. “You had...oh, shit…” Just like that, it’s back to breathing and trying to remember that this has to end at some point, and he really hopes it’s soon because he’d give his left nut for a good old-fashioned morphine drip right now. Shit, he misses that stuff.

Ian takes his hand away from his back--they’ve established a rule that Mickey can only be touched when he’s not in pain--and puts his head down next to Mickey’s.

“Doing good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good. I love you.”

“You too,” Mickey breathes once the pain fades.

***

Eight hours doesn’t sound very long, but holy fuck does it feel like an entire fucking week has gone by since this started. Mickey’s lost all sense of time, he hasn’t had much to eat because eating anything makes him feel nauseated, but Ian’s been telling him he needs to keep his strength up. Vee has been checking his progress, always asking permission first because “I don’t want you to kick me in the head.” 

It’s been dark outside for a while and Mickey knows that every other member of the Gallagher family is situated either right outside the bedroom door or close by, because they’ve all come in to get updates and wish them luck. At this point, Mickey’s abandoned all dignity and is half-sitting on the floor, propped against Ian’s chest, completely nude with nothing to hide (not much of a point at this stage, anyway.) So if anyone else besides Vee comes through that door, they’re gonna get an eyeful and serve them right.

One major downside of being previously drugged to the gills is that Mickey’s completely caught off-guard at how badly his body wants the damn kid out of it. It just hits him, like having to take a shit only twenty times stronger, and he starts pushing without even giving Ian any warning. 

“Mickey, hold on!” Ian says, but fuck that, there is no holding on. Mickey just goes with the urge, and when it stops, he kind of hopes the baby will be out already, but it’s not. 

“Vee!” Ian calls, and she comes running in with a first-aid kit. 

“He was pushing,” Ian reports, and she grins.

“Okay! Baby time!” She puts her hands gently on Mickey’s legs. “This is the hard part, but remember to push only when you feel a contraction. Otherwise, you’re just gonna get tired and waste your energy. Got it?”

Mickey nods tiredly. “Yeah, got it.” Honestly, he wishes he could keep going, because now in addition to pain there’s a fuckton of pressure, which just makes it worse.

The next however-long-it-is is one big nightmare of pushing during contractions, cursing Ian out whenever he gets a breath, vaguely hearing encouraging comments coming from outside the door, and then Vee starts laughing.

“Looks like we got a little mermaid baby!”

“WHAT?” Ian and Mickey shout in tandem, because neither of them expected to hear that.

“Means she’s still in the sac,” Vee explains, smiling. “Didn’t you wonder why your water didn’t break?”

Mickey blinks, remembering that he’d been waiting for that to happen but forgot about it once the contractions got closer together. 

“Is she okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, fine. We’ll just need to break it once she’s out, and I’ve got scissors.”

Mickey’s relieved, but that only lasts a few seconds until another contraction hits and he’s pushing again, and he doesn’t understand why this is taking so long and he just wants it to be over. 

“It’s okay, Mick,” Ian’s saying, gripping his hands despite their “no touching” policy. “She’s almost here, you can do it, you just have to--”

“Ian,” Mickey pants. “Shut the fuck up or I’m never sucking your dick again.” 

Vee snorts and Ian turns his head away, but Mickey catches a smile. 

“I fucking mean it,” he growls.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Vee says, snapping her fingers at him. “Focus, please. One more push and little Ariel’s here. Come on!”

Mickey taps into reserves of energy he forgot he had--funny how it’s easy to forget he’s done this before--and pushes one last time, giving it all he’s got. 

Five seconds later, Vee’s cutting something with her scissors and two seconds after that, he hears a cry that starts out watery and crescendos into a full-on, healthy wail.

“Holy--” Ian gasps, and Mickey can feel his whole body shaking under him. He goes completely limp, sort of sliding to rest his head on Ian’s leg. Exhausted doesn’t begin to describe how he feels right now. 

“Is she okay?” Ian keeps asking, and Vee hands him the baby wrapped in a towel. 

“She’s fine. Perfect. Take a look, Daddy!”

Mickey wants to close his eyes, but hearing the baby making noises right above him keeps them open. 

“Mickey, look,” Ian says, tilting the baby so Mickey can see her more clearly. 

Mickey looks. She has wet strands of red hair, flailing limbs still covered in mucus and blood, and her eyes are closed. She turns her head toward him--  
\--and everything in him completely fucking panics.

“Take her,” he says, turning his own head away. 

“What?” 

“Fucking take her!” Mickey insists, and Ian does. Mickey closes his eyes, not wanting to be awake anymore, not wanting to be here anymore. 

He just wants everyone to go away. 

***

When he wakes up, it’s morning. He’s wrapped in a clean blanket with a pillow under his head, still on the floor, and every part of his lower body is throbbing. 

He lifts himself onto one elbow and glances around, but the room’s empty. He’s starving, so he decides to see if there’s anything to eat in the kitchen. First, though--he needs a shower. And clothes.

The bathroom’s mercifully free, and after a quick scrub-down, he borrows some sweatpants and a hoodie from Ian’s closet and makes his way downstairs. 

That turns out to be a mistake, though, because the entire Gallagher clan is gathered at the table. Ian’s walking around with the baby in his arms. Mickey almost turns around, but Ian sees him and smiles.

“Hey,” he says warmly. “You’re up. How’re you feeling?”

Mickey tries to avoid five sets of curious eyes as he heads for the fridge.

“Hungry,” he answers, not looking at anyone in particular. 

“We’ve got pancakes,” Ian says, pointing to the stove. “And there’s bacon, cause you can eat it now.” 

“Thanks,” Mickey replies, keeping his eyes firmly where he needs them to be. He gulps down some juice, helps himself to both bacon and pancakes, and heads into the living room instead of joining the rest of them in the kitchen.

He knows Ian’s going to follow him, and sure enough, he does, sitting down in the armchair beside the couch.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a minute. “You...got a little upset earlier, when I asked you to see Maya.”

Mickey stops mid-bite. “Who?”

Ian beams. “That’s what I named her.” He glances back at the baby carrier on the counter. “I took her to the clinic to get checked out. She’s eight pounds even, twenty-two inches long and completely healthy.” He looks back at Mickey. “I thought you’d want to know. Do you like her name? Cause it’s not too late to change it--”

“No,” Mickey says briskly. “She’s yours, you can name her what you want.”

“Mick, she’s yours, too.” He seems to weigh his next words. “Are you...have you changed your mind? Do you not even want to see her?”

“I saw her,” Mickey replies, wishing Ian would just fucking drop it already. “She’s fine. She’s got a name. Nothing more for me to do here, right?”

“Mickey,” Ian says in a low voice. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“Fucking hell!” Mickey snaps, throwing his fork down. “You got your damn kid. I did what you paid me to do. I’m not her dad and you are. So what the fuck more do you want from me?”

Ian stares at him. “Why are you yelling at me? You said you wanted to know her, but now you don’t even--”

Mickey gets up and starts looking for the bag that he’s pretty sure he left here yesterday.

“What are you doing?” Ian demands, but Mickey’s found the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder already. 

“I’m going to work,” Mickey throws over his shoulder. 

“Mickey, wait, we need to--”

“Congratulations,” Mickey spits out before he storms out the front door. 

***

He has no intention of doing any actual work once he gets to the bar. The guy he found to do the work for half the price is there already, and he doesn’t want to talk to him or anyone else right now. He just needs to get plastered, pass out somewhere, and forget that the past twenty-four hours...or possibly six months...ever happened. Just for a while. 

It’s only when he’s downed half a beer--and good God, does it taste amazing--that he remembers how little alcohol it actually takes to get him buzzed after going without for almost a year. So rather than go on a bender, he decides to take some six-packs back to the apartment with him. Heat be damned, he wants to sleep in his own bed again.

The flaw in this plan becomes clear as soon as he sets foot back inside the apartment. For one thing, the heat is back on, but it’s still cold. For another, the door to the nursery is open and the first thing he sees is the crib. The one for the baby he isn’t ready to even be in the same room as yet.

And then there’s his bed, which seems bigger once he’s in it, and he remembers that he’s gotten used to sharing it with Ian. Someone else he doesn’t want to be around. 

He needs more sleep. That’s all he really feels like doing right now. 

***

He wakes up to see a redhead sitting on his bed, but it’s not Ian. It’s Debbie.

“The fuck?” he mumbles. “How’d you get in here?”

“I came by with Ian,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s with Maya in the nursery, if you want to see them.”

Mickey glances toward the door, but doesn’t feel any compelling urge to leave the bed. 

“I get why you ran out earlier,” Debbie says, not moving an inch. “After I had Frannie, I didn’t feel like I could look after her, either.”

Mickey flops back onto his pillow and closes his eyes. “So?”

“So I told Ian to leave you alone for a while and just focus on her,” Debbie continues. “But if you’re gonna live here, you’ll have to help out eventually. Just because he has us doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you, too.”

Fuck. That’s exactly what part of his mind has been screaming at him ever since he left the house earlier.

She’s not done, apparently. “I brought you some stuff that helped after I had Frannie. Ice packs, painkillers, stuff like that.” 

“Thanks,” Mickey says, still not opening his eyes.

“Mickey, it’s okay if you need time. She’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

It isn’t until the door closes that Mickey lets himself cry.

***

Hours later, when he wakes up too hungry to go back to sleep, he gets out of bed. Ian’s in the living room, asleep on the couch, and Mickey’s glad he doesn’t see him head for the kitchen. 

He’s halfway through a carton of leftover Chinese food when Ian comes in, and even though he wants to bolt back to his room, he fights the urge. It’s Ian. They can talk about this. 

“She’s still asleep,” Ian says, gesturing to the nursery. “If…” He seems to stop himself. 

“Debbie told me you might have postpartum depression, and not to push you to spend time with her,” he says. “So it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and stabs at some cold sesame noodles.

“I’m not fucking depressed,” he retorts. “I just squeezed out an eight-pound kid. I’m always like this afterwards.”

He’s not, really, but he doesn’t need Ian feeling sorry for him. 

They don’t talk for a few minutes, and Ian fixes some formula while Mickey finishes the noodles and dumps the carton in the trash. For lack of anything else to say, he settles for the obvious.

“Getting warmer in here, at least.”

Ian nods. “Heat’s fixed.”

“Great.” 

He gets up from his chair a little too fast and winces, and Ian takes a step forward.

“Are you--”

“I’m fine!” Mickey barks, waving him away. Then he makes the mistake of looking directly at Ian, and he looks so goddamn worried and concerned that every stupid defense Mickey’s raised over the past twelve hours comes crashing down. 

He’s not sure who makes the first move, but they end up in each other’s arms, not even kissing, just hugging. Holding on like one of them just got back from war. 

“M’sorry,” Mickey keeps saying over and over. “I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Ian keeps saying right back. “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you.”

He pulls away after a minute, and presses a hand to Mickey’s cheek. 

“You were fucking incredible,” he says, tears spilling down his face. “The way you did all of it on your own, like you just knew what to do--”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Mickey chokes out. “It just happened.”

“You were still incredible,” Ian insists. “I’m so proud of you. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

Mickey looks away. “I’m not. I still can’t…” He glances toward the nursery. “I need time.”

Ian nods slowly, loosening his grip but still keeping an arm around Mickey’s waist. 

“Okay. Let’s go sit on the couch.”

Mickey’s aware that Ian’s treating him like he’s sick, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t feel like himself yet, anyway. Being a couch potato sounds like the most he can do right now.

“How is she?” he asks when they’ve situated themselves.

Ian smiles, and Mickey’s taken aback at how much his face lights up.

“She’s great. Sleeps like a champ, eats all her food, and hasn’t cried much yet, but the first few days are supposed to be the easiest, so that could all change.”

Mickey smiles. Whatever his hang-ups, he’s glad she’s doing well. 

“I like the name,” he says. 

“Thought you might, since your family has two M names,” Ian replies. “And it sounds good with Gallagher.”

“Any middle name?”

“Haven’t decided on one yet. It was going to be Phillip if she’d been a boy, but Phillipa doesn’t really suit her.”

“My middle name’s Alexandr,” Mickey shares, figuring the least he can do right now is give Ian some ideas for naming the kid. “Without an ‘e.’”

Ian thinks it over. “Maya Alexandra Gallagher.” He grins. “I like it. Thanks.”

He leans in and kisses Mickey, and Mickey’s not so tired that he doesn’t like where this could go, but there’s something he needs to remember.

“We can’t fuck,” he says, breaking the kiss after a few seconds. “I mean, you can’t fuck me. It’s the hormones, I could get pregnant again anytime for the next couple of weeks, and we don’t want that.”

Ian blinks. “Oh, yeah, I know. I read about it. I wasn’t--I mean, you literally had a baby yesterday, I didn’t think we were going to--”

“It’s okay,” Mickey says, loving how flustered he is. “I appreciate the thought, especially since I look like total shit right now.”

“You’re exhausted,” Ian says, stroking Mickey's neck. “It’s normal.”

Mickey smooths his hand over his stomach, which has only gone down a little since the delivery. 

“Yeah, and there’s this. You still think I’m hot with it?”

Ian puts his hand right where Mickey’s is. 

“Considering that you grew my kid in there for thirty-nine weeks, you bet your ass I do.”

Mickey grins, and they kiss some more before Maya starts fussing. 

Ian glances at Mickey. “Do you want to see her?”

Mickey hesitates, but figures he might as well start easing into this now. 

He follows Ian into the nursery. Ian picks Maya up like a pro and rocks her, talking in a ridiculously soft voice Mickey’s never heard him use, and he gets teary all over again at how Ian’s taking to this like a duck to water. 

He keeps his distance while Ian changes her diaper--he’s not ready to see all that up close--but when she’s nice and clean again, he sits down in the armchair and sort of beckons to Ian.

“Want to hold her?” Ian says, catching on. Mickey nods before he loses his nerve, and Ian gently places Maya in his arms. He has to show him how to hold on so she doesn’t fall into his lap, but he gets it. 

“Hey,” he says, looking at her for the second time since she’s been alive. She doesn’t seem to have noticed his absence, which is good. She looks up at him, still sort of cross-eyed, and he’s bowled over by how much she looks like him. Yeah, she’s a redhead like Ian, but those eyes are pure Milkovich, right down to the eyebrows. 

He smiles, taking it all in. Mouth looks like Ian’s, but the nose doesn’t. Her ears are up for debate, but her chin looks just like Mandy’s. It’s weird to see so many familiar features work so well in one face. He can’t deny it--she’s beautiful. 

There’s really no going back now. She’s here, she’s his, and he can’t just hand her off to her other parent and head out the door like he’s done in the past. She’s in his life, and he has to decide how much he wants to be in hers. 

“I’ll give you your money back,” he blurts out to Ian. “And I...I want an open adoption.”

Ian looks startled. “Okay...first of all, that money’s yours. I wasn’t paying you for her, I was paying you to be a surrogate, which you did. Secondly, yeah, we can do that whole adoption thing. But, uh...I have a little bit of a confession.”

Mickey looks back at the baby. “She is yours, right?”

Ian laughs. “Yes. But I also had some adoption papers drawn up a few months ago, back when we started talking about staying together after she was born. I kept them around cause I was...kind of hoping you’d change your mind.”

Mickey’s confused. “I already signed papers.”

“These are different,” Ian explains, sitting down on the arm of the chair. “In case you want to become her other dad. Legally. Full parental rights and everything.”

“...I can do that? We can do that?”

“According to the lawyer I talked to, yes,” Ian says with a grin. “I mean, she’s biologically both of ours, and this way you won’t have to sue me or get into any messy legal shit over custody.”

“I would never sue you,” Mickey scoffs. “I hate lawyers.”

“Mickey,” Ian says, and this time he’s completely serious. “Do you want to be her dad? You don’t have to sign anything today, but eventually?”

Mickey doesn’t have to think too hard about his answer. 

“Yeah. Eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There WILL be an epilogue, so don't worry, this isn't quite the end!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Epilogue

“Mickey, come look at Maya!”

Mickey’s grinning as soon as he enters the apartment, not just at the prospect of whatever adorable thing their almost-three-year-old is doing, but because of some exciting news he got earlier. 

He walks into the nursery to see Ian taking pictures while Maya runs around in a mermaid costume, complete with a floaty green tail trailing behind her and a headband shaped like a crab in her curly red hair. 

“Dada!” she cries when she sees him, heading right for his legs. She doesn’t really know how to brake yet, so he leans down to scoop her into his arms before there’s a collision.

“Hey!” He adjusts her hairband, which is about to fall into her eyes. “You ready to go trick-or-treating already? Halloween’s not for a week.”

“I finally found the right costume today, and I couldn’t resist,” Ian confesses, stowing his phone in his back pocket. “Doesn’t she look great? I figured since, you know, she’s our little mermaid--”

“Ian,” Mickey says warningly. “You better not have been telling everyone that story.” 

Ian chuckles. “Relax, I haven’t. And she won’t hear it until she’s eighteen, like we agreed.”

“Great. Now, who wants to hear what Daddy found out at the doctor’s office today?”

Ian freezes. “What...did you find out?”

Mickey steps closer and pulls him in, kissing him lightly. 

“Our little mermaid’s getting a baby cousin in about thirty-two weeks.”

Ian’s jaw drops. “Really? It worked?” 

Mickey nods, beaming. “It worked. Mandy flipped out, she was crying so hard I thought she’d have a fit. Ben almost fainted. It was hilarious.”

Ben was Mandy’s husband, who she met during a traffic jam in L.A. (“It’s insane how well you can get to know someone when you’re parked across from them for four hours.”) Mandy was getting more work as an actress and didn’t want to compromise her career with a pregnancy, so she and Ben had tentatively approached Mickey to ask him if he’d be their surrogate. After the whole “it’s your sister’s baby but it’s not incest” part had been thoroughly discussed between the four of them, he’d agreed. 

“Holy shi--!” Ian just catches himself and kisses Mickey back passionately. “That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, can’t wait to do it all again,” Mickey says wryly, passing Maya back over to Ian. “But this time, swear to God, I’m getting drugs. One natural delivery was enough.” 

“Crab,” Maya says, squeezing the plush part of her hairband. “Sea.”

“That’s right, baby, crabs live in the sea,” Ian says. “And do babies come from the sea?”

“Yes,” Maya says with complete conviction, and they have to laugh. 

“We’re not having that talk just yet, either,” Mickey says, kissing her cheek. 

***  
“How does she keep getting more beautiful?” Ian says later that night, scrolling through pictures of Maya. “I swear it happens every day.”

Mickey turns the phone toward himself and smiles. “Yeah, that’s those Gallagher genes. Milkoviches look like rats until we’re seventeen. Iggy never aged out of it.” 

Ian laughs. “You never looked like a rat.”

“You didn’t see me much before I was nineteen. By my family’s standards, I had a glow-up.”

“Wow.”

“Exactly.”

Ian puts the phone down and looks at him. “You feeling okay? No morning sickness yet?”

“Not so far,” Mickey says happily. “The only time I feel kind of sick is in the afternoon, and that goes away by dinnertime. With Maya, I had it all damn day. I don’t miss that.”

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this for a fourth time.”

Mickey stretches out on the bed, tucking himself into Ian’s side. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be the last time. Thirty-three’s getting up there for a male surrogate. And I want to raise Maya without being pregnant all the time. Doing this for Mandy is pretty much the only exception I’d make.”

Ian puts an arm around him. “Even if I said I was thinking of having another kid?”

Mickey looks up at him. “You couldn’t have brought this up like three months ago, Gallagher? I’m kind of at capacity right now.”

Ian snorts. “I don’t mean now, but in a few years when Maya’s older. And I wouldn’t ask you to do it if you don’t want to. We can adopt a kid, or pick another surrogate.”

Mickey thinks about it. “Maybe. You want another girl or a boy next time?”

“No preference,” Ian says, combing his fingers through Mickey’s hair. “As long as they’re as amazing as Maya.”

“That’s impossible,” Mickey says with certainty. “She’s the gold standard. Any other kid’s probably gonna suffer by comparison.”

Ian laughs and kisses his crown. “Really? Even the one you’re cooking right now?”

Mickey brushes a hand over his stomach. “Well, maybe this one will be a close second, cause it’s Mandy’s.” His smile softens. “She’s gonna be a good mom. And she’s ready this time.”

“This time? Wait--did she tell you about--?”

“The time in high school when some rando knocked her up?” Mickey says, keeping the secret he promised her even now. “Yeah. And Dad thought it was you and you helped her get the money to get rid of it. Best thing for everyone.”

Ian relaxes. “Right, yeah. Well, good. I’m glad she’s having one now, instead of back then.”

“Me, too.”

***  
Seven months later, Jonas Mikhailo Milkovitch is born via C-section, and for some reason the whole Gallagher family shows up for that, too.

“Is there anywhere the fucking calvary won’t go?” Mickey says later, loving the morphine but hating how many people have been in and out of his room in the past hour alone. 

Ian, who’s holding Jonas while Mandy takes Maya to get some food, grins. 

“They like you and they like Mandy,” he says warmly. “Plus, this is probably the second-cutest baby they’ve ever seen. He’s gorgeous, Mick.”

“I can’t take any of the credit, thank God,” Mickey says, glancing at the baby. “But he is pretty cute. Wish they hadn’t named him after that stupid boy band, though.”

“It’s a family name on Ben’s side, douchebag,” Mandy says, coming back in with a bag from Subway and holding Maya’s hand. Maya immediately runs to Ian and starts pulling on his leg, saying “Baby!” over and over.

“Okay, okay, you can look but no touching,” Ian says, crouching down carefully to her level. “See? This is Jonas. He’s your cousin. You guys are gonna be best friends, aren’t you?”

Maya looks solemnly at Jonas for about three seconds before smiling. 

“Do-bag,” she pronounces, and all three of the adults crack up in spite of themselves. 

“Mandy, watch your damn language around my kid!” Mickey chastises, hiding a smirk.

“As long as you watch yours around mine,” she retorts, taking Jonas from Ian. She goes over to Mickey and kisses his forehead. 

“Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. I know this means…” she trails off, and glances at Ian. “Does he know?”

“Know what?” Ian says, rummaging in the sandwich bag for his order. 

Mickey and Mandy exchange a look. 

“I’m officially out of the surrogacy game,” Mickey says, eyes downcast. “Once you have a C-section, you’re considered too high-risk for future clients.” 

“What?!” Ian gapes. “But that’s bull--crap! You didn’t have a choice, he was breech!”

Mickey shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it. Besides, I told you this was the last time.” 

“Yeah, but…” Ian has that righteously angry look on his face that Mickey finds both amusing and kind of annoying. “What if this had been your first time? Would they just kick you out anyway?”

“Probably,” Mickey says, determined not to get as worked up about it as Ian is getting. “But before you go all SJW on me, can I get a freaking sandwich? I’m hungry.”

Ian hands him the ham-and-cheese he ordered, jaw still set, and Mickey shakes his head. 

“Forget it, Gallagher,” he says after Mandy leaves with baby Jonas. “We got a little girl and a kid whose mom is going to spoil him rotten out of this. I think I did pretty good overall.”

The little girl in question is on her tiptoes, trying to get up on the bed with him. And possibly steal some of his sandwich--she loves ham.

“Hey,” he says, smiling and handing her a piece. “Here you go. Ian, bring her up here.”

Ian lifts her carefully onto the bed, and she curls up by Mickey’s side. 

“Careful of Dad’s tummy,” Ian says automatically. “He had to have a few little stitches.”

Mickey snorts. “A few” feels more like “a hundred” whenever the meds start to wear off.

Maya isn’t interested in that, though. She just wants more ham, and some cuddles. So does Ian, it seems like, because Mickey finds himself with Maya on one side of him and Ian on the other.

“Love you,” Mickey says, and it’s meant for both of them to hear because why not. He’s gotten a lot more comfortable saying it whenever he feels like it over the past three years.

Maya sighs and kisses his shoulder, which makes him laugh. Ian’s kiss lands on his mouth. 

“Love you, too, Mickey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One big happy family! 
> 
> I'd like to thank all of you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. You've all been so kind, and I love seeing how many people have enjoyed this little Gallavich journey! 
> 
> Keep being awesome, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Opinions?
> 
> ETA: Finally fixed it so this fic shows that there will be more than one chapter!


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